Lucky
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Katie Bell is unlucky - she has been unnaturally unlucky since she was a child, and she knows it more than anyone else. It's such a hassle that Oliver Wood, a boy she meets at Hogwarts, doesn't think the same.


**Written for Hogwarts, Muggle Studies A5 - **_Shlimazl (Yiddish) _\- A chronically unlucky person

* * *

It takes Katie Bell's parents four years to realize how unnaturally unlucky she is.

Whether energetic little Katie is running to the playground, reading in the house, or sprinting all over town, she comes across an unnaturally large amount of bad luck. Of course, bad luck is dismissible because it happens to everyone, but it doesn't take long for people around Katie to realize that bad luck is the only type of luck she will ever receive.

After all, when you've seen the little girl down the street break her arm fourteen times, twist her ankle twenty, and lose her hair bow or pencil practically _every day_, you kind of realize something's not adding up.

But despite the neighbors' whispers and her parent's increasingly large restrictions on where she can go and what she can do, Katie remains relatively oblivious to her "unluckiness".

"Mum," she says, an innocent six-years-old girl tugging on her mother's sleeve. "I want to go to the park with Benjy and Marissa."

"Katie, I've still got to finish making dinner before your father comes home. Can you wait ten more minutes?"

She pouts. "But _Mum_, why can't I go alone? Benjy and Marissa's daddy and mummy don't make them wait."

"Katie," says Mrs. Bell patiently. "I've told you already."

"But Mum-"

"Katie. Ten minutes. Just finish the book you were reading, and then I'll be done, okay?"

"But _Mum_-"

"Katie, please."

"Mum, I promise-"

"Katie." Mrs. Bell places the carton of eggs on the counter and kneels down to level with Katie's scowling face. "Your dad and I just don't want anymore accidents like last time. You remember last time?"

She doesn't move, because of course she remembers those painful scrapes on her knees and elbows that wouldn't stop bleeding for days.

Mrs. Bell strokes Katie's light hair. "Five minutes, dear. And then we can meet your friends at the park."

Katie's shoulders slump as she leaves the kitchen and sits curled up by the front door, dejected and in no mood to smile.

But little kids have a way of bouncing back to life, and when her mother finishes in four minutes, and they're off to the park, Katie hoots and jumps with excitement all the way down the street to the neighborhood park.

She doesn't know why her mother keeps looking at her as if she's going to fall over any second. She doesn't notice the sympathetic smile that the neighbor, Mrs. Dubose, gives to her mother. She doesn't realize that her mother's grip around her hand increases when they reach the swings at the park.

And when she sees Benjy and Marissa Peters being led away by their mother just as Katie approaches them, she doesn't know why they're leaving so soon, so conveniently when she's just come.

"Sorry, Katie," calls Marissa.

"Mum says we have to go now. For dinner." Benjy, who is three years older than her, looks strangely guilty about something, but Katie can't put her finger on it.

"Can't you stay one more minute?" she pleads, the puppy-dog look that only a child can effortlessly master appearing on her face. "My mum will take you guys home. Right, Mum?"

"Sorry, Katie, dear," says Mrs. Peters quickly, but she stands protectively in front of her children. "Next time, maybe."

For the second time that day, Katie's shoulders fall and tears spring up in her eyes. She glumly watches her friends leave the park and sits down heavily on the edge of the slide.

"Mum," she whispers, "why does everyone always leave me alone?"

Her mother's arm curls around her small form, and she presses kisses into Katie's hair.

But she doesn't answer her. And Katie doesn't ever ask her again.

* * *

When Katie the Bad Luck Girl turns eleven and receives her Hogwarts letter, she isn't sure if it's a miracle or if it's just another thing she should be wary about, another thing that her foul luck has brought her.

It's rather obvious her parents believe the second.

"No. We won't send her there," says her father firmly, despite the fact that he's shaking and can't look the old, strict lady named Professor McGonagall in the eye.

"It's too far," adds Mrs. Bell. "And…" She glances quickly at Katie and lowers her voice. "The tuition."

"There is no tuition," says Professor McGonagall, her thin lips curving into a thin smile. "At Hogwarts, we accept anyone who has potential, regardless of their economic capabilities."

"It's still much too far," argues Mr. Bell. "Our Katie - we can't possibly be expected to send her to _Scotland_."

"Katie has never been that far from us before."

In fact, Katie hasn't been without her parents anywhere further than in town, but neither her parents nor Katie mention that.

"So many things could happen to her," says her mother, wringing her hands. "Katie - she's -"

She fumbles for words and comes up with nothing. Katie watches as her father attempts to catch the ball.

"Katie's got some - well, since she was little -"

Both her parents look so helpless, and Katie suddenly feels tired of being neglected, talked about as if she isn't there. "I'm unlucky," she announces loudly to the room.

McGonagall, who has patiently listened to her parents' worries, raises her brown eyebrows at Katie. "You are… unlucky?"

Katie nods defiantly, then lowers her eyes. There is something piercing about Minerva McGonagall's eyes that makes her wary, something strangely fishy about the long, outdated robes she wears.

For a moment, there is utter silence in the living room. Then the lady with the strange blue robes turns to her parents and says calmly,

"Mr. and Mrs. Bell, Hogwarts is a very reputable school."

"I'm sure it is-"

"Mr. Bell. Hogwarts is one of a kind. I assure you" - a secretive smile crept onto her face - "that your daughter would be receiving one of the most unique educations there."

And then the strangest thing happened - she reached into her robes and pulled out a _stick_.

"Hogwarts will teach things that most schools cannot. This is because Hogwarts only accepts the students who we know are capable of doing what we will teach them. Katie is one of these students," she says, obviously well aware that the Bell family is staring at her with fascination and a bit of horror.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," she says, and waves the stick in the air.

And the cup the stick is pointed at _floats upwards_.

Her mother's shriek is loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. Her father's panicked yells for the old lady to get out resonate through the house.

But Minerva McGonagall's blue eyes are only fixed upon Katie, who is staring at the cup in wonder rather than fear or panic.

"Miss Bell," says McGonagall carefully, plucking the cup from the air. "Hogwarts is a school for magic. You say you are unlucky? Perhaps in this world you are, but at Hogwarts, we don't believe in luck. We believe in skill. And we know that _you_ have it."

Katie stares at the cup, then at the professor.

And she believes her.

* * *

It only takes 2 weeks for everyone at Hogwarts to know that Katie's got some seriously bad luck on her side.

It's just like how it was at home, except it's worse, because at Hogwarts, it's perfectly normal for people to come up to her and ask, "Are you sure you don't have an Anti-Luck Charm on you?" or, worse, offer advice: "Here, carry this herb around. Maybe then you won't fall down the Grand Staircase anymore."

She loves Hogwarts. She loves the school. She even loves her roommates, despite their curiosity with the origin of her bad luck.

But Katie is _miserable_, and she doesn't realize it until she meets Oliver Wood.

She's strolling outside on a Saturday when she comes to a part of the school she hasn't seen before. It's obviously a stadium, and she wonders if this is the Quidditch pitch that everyone is talking about. (Madam Hooch doesn't let the first years have their flying lessons here, because apparently some students last year got stuck in the goal hoops.)

Katie puts a cautious step onto the grass when she hears an Irish voice behind her.

"Oi! You've got a broom?"

She jerks her foot backwards and sees an older boy (a fourth-year; she thinks she's seen him in the Common Room before) staring at her from a few feet away. There is a polished broomstick slung carelessly over his shoulder as he takes a step forward.

"No," she says.

He squints at her. "A first-year?"

Katie nods. "Haven't had much experience flying," she adds. "Other than flying lessons."

He grins at her, and she notices that he has a very nice smile. "How did you like them?"

"They were alright," she lies. (She hadn't had any flying lessons; she was conveniently sick the first day, "late to class" the second, and hadn't uttered a word during the third, which meant that her broomstick had stayed firmly on the ground.)

"Alright?" The boy smirks. "Flying isn't just _alright. _Flying is goddamn brilliant." He puts his broomstick on the ground and swings a leg over. She watches him with interest as he continues, almost exclusively to himself, "There's nothing in the world like being in the air. It's absolutely amazing."

And with that, he takes off from the ground. Katie watches him soar into the sky, whooping with delight as he circles the pitch with fancy loops and turns. It's beautiful and fascinating, like a dance, and for a moment Katie feels like she's flying, herself.

She laughs as she turns her head to watch the boy fly, her mouth lifting upwards in a way it hasn't in _ages_ \- and Katie feels happy, truly happy.

And then the boy, maybe miscalculating his dive, crashes right into her from the side.

He sends them sprawling across the pitch, and Katie rolls in the muddy grass until she's sure she's bleeding on her arms and on her foot. She lies in the muck, her eyes closed and hair splattered with mud as she groans and tries to convince herself that she can still move.

Heavy breathing and loud footsteps reach her ears, and the sun is blocked out as somebody kneels over her.

"Oh, Merlin, are you alright? Sorry, I didn't mean to - Usually that move works without hitting anyone -"

He helps her sit up as Katie moans and holds her head. The boy apologizes about a million more times before Katie tells him to shut up.

"It's really" - she grunts - "not your fault at all." Katie winces as she touches the scrape on her arm. "This is pretty much a normal occurrence for me."

"I don't think that's a good thing," says the boy.

"Yeah, well." Katie snorts, and then lets out a cry of pain, because apparently the slightest movement will hurt her throbbing head. "I'm unlucky. You should stay away from me," she adds, noticing the bruises forming on his knees.

He doesn't make a move to leave, and Katie is suddenly aware of how close he is sitting to her. No one - regardless of their gender - has ever been so close to her before, on the account of their parents' fear that her bad luck would rub off on their children.

"Bad luck isn't contagious," says the boy pointedly. He puts out a hand. "I'm Oliver Wood, by the way. Figure you should know my name, since I nearly killed you and all."

Katie smiles and takes his warm hand. "Katie Bell, and trust me, the longer you know me, the more you'll come to realize that everything that happens to me is subconsciously self-inflicted."

Oliver raises his eyebrows, and a corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "I wouldn't bet on that."

They spend a considerably long time on the field chatting with each other, and by the time the afternoon's over, Katie's staring at Oliver's broomstick and wishing that she could feel the same rush of exhilaration that he talks about, wishing that she could fly without fear that she'll fall from the sky.

By the time it's time for dinner, Oliver's noticed that she's outrightly staring at his broomstick, and offers it to her.

She declines, because she's unlucky and will probably end up falling fifty feet from the air.

(And, she knows from experience, falling just twenty feet is twenty feet far too much already).

* * *

"Oliver, I _can't_. You know I can't."

"Oh, come on, Bell. You've been flying two years now, and you haven't died."

"Have you forgotten? I'm un-"

Oliver shakes his head at her. "Don't say it."

"-lucky. Unnaturally unlucky." Katie frowns at him from her perch on her broomstick.

"You haven't died yet," he repeats. "I highly doubt you'll fall off if you haven't already."

"But Oliver" - she idly flies around the hoops, one hand brushing against the cool metal circles - "Quidditch is different from flying. There are _balls_ flying around, okay? And how do you know I'm not going to end up getting a bloody nose every game, or that I won't be a bad luck charm or something?"

He rolls his eyes and says, "Better three Chasers, one of them unlucky, than three Chasers, one of them nonexistent."

"I'm going to make you _lose_."

Oliver cringes at this (if there's one thing he can't stand other than her claims that she is unlucky, it's the joint thought of Quidditch and losing).

"I'm going to make you lose, and I'm going to fumble the Quaffle and everything. I can't do Quidditch. It's not _me_, Ollie."

He purses his lips. "That's what you said about flying." Oliver sighs and flies in front of her, making her halt abruptly on her broom. "Come on, Katie. Please? Just come to the tryouts."

"Oliver-"

"I promise nothing bad will happen. And if something does…" He frowns. "I'm still not going to be convinced that it's because you're, you know."

"Unlucky," says Katie stonily.

"Oh, come on, I know you want to," says Oliver, grinning as he loops around in the air. "Think about all the balls flying around!" he shouts into the wind. "A bunch of players flying in the same direction as you… The feeling of zooming in the air with a Quaffle in your hands…" He returns to her, that half-smile on his face that tells her he knows she's about to give in. "Come on. You want to."

Katie fiddles with the handle of the broomstick.

"Come _on_, Bell."

She heaves a sigh when she find herself smiling. "_Fine_. But if anything happens-"

Oliver hoots with joy. "Nothing will, Bell, I guarantee it!"

Two minutes later, Katie finds herself sprawled across the Slytherin bleachers, clutching the side she's slammed into the stands.

* * *

They've just won the Quidditch Cup, and Katie could not be happier for Oliver, because this is his last year as Captain, this is his dream, and this is _his _day.

"I feel _brilliant_!" says Oliver after they've taken pictures and put the trophy in the common room. There's a bounce in his step as he and Katie walk towards the Great Hall.

"So do I," says Katie. "Your happiness is rubbing off on me."

"Did you see all those saves the twins made? And Harry, he was brilliant, of course. Angelina, Alicia, they were amazing. And Bell." He stops mid-hop and stares at her. Katie doesn't know why she's noticing the way the light hits his light hair, or why her name sounds better on his tongue than anyone else's, but her heart's beating quickly and she wondered when Oliver Wood became synonymous with butterflies and blushing.

"You were _perfect_ out there," he says seriously. "That penalty score." He shakes his head and laughs. "I can't believe you made that."

Katie manages a smile through her flushed cheeks (which have nothing to do with the exhilaration of winning the Quidditch Cup). "I can't believe it either. You know what happened right when I was throwing it? My broomstick jerked to the side. I thought I'd lose my hold on the Quaffle for a moment, but instead, it went right in."

Oliver's eyebrows rise. "That happened? I didn't even notice."

Katie shrugs. "Yeah, I'm fairly certain no one else did either."

A smile spreads across his handsome face. "You know how you're always harping on about how you're unlucky and whatnot? I guess this time your unluckiness turned out to be lucky."

Katie snorts. "I guess, if you want to look at it like that."

"No, seriously. Bell, I think you sell yourself a bit short." He takes a step towards her, his brown eyes locked on hers. He is five feet away from her.

"What do you mean?" Four feet.

"You're always saying that you're unlucky, but I have a theory." He lowers his voice. Three. "You're trying to hide the fact that you're actually something of a good luck charm."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Two feet now. "I'm pretty sure all the injuries I've had in my lifetime would say otherwise. _I _would say otherwise."

One. Half. Quarter. Katie can't even count anymore.

They are literally inches apart, but they don't say anything for a moment; she just listens to the sound of his breathing and hers, and the comfort of warm puffs of air that hit her cheeks-

"Really? Because I wouldn't."

He brushes a strand of hair from her face, and his lips have just touched hers when all of a sudden, the door Katie is leaning on bursts open and pushes her into Oliver. They both stumble until Oliver loses his balance and they end up on the floor in a heap of Quidditch robes and laughter.

"Told you," she says breathlessly through her laughs. "I'm un-"

Before she can finish the well-worn phrase, Oliver's kissing her again - and in that moment, Katie doesn't feel unlucky at all.


End file.
